


Fetish

by missyvortexdv (Purpleyin), Purpleyin



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Leather Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/missyvortexdv, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleyin/pseuds/Purpleyin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sensual/humour fic of Ba'al/Sam written for the Ba'am shippers over at GateWorld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fetish

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up to Season 8's Reckoning Part 2  
> Warnings: Hostage situation implied  
> A/N: Not betaread, so I apologise for any mistakes there may be. Originally posted in 2005.

She smelt incense, thick and sweet, particles settling in her lungs but not quite enough to make her entirely uncomfortable. She covered her mouth and tried to clear her airways herself, making only a gentle cough. The resulting noise was feeble, half-hearted, maybe you could say, girly. As much as she hated to say that there really was no other way to describe it.

And it seemed to amuse the rooms other occupant.

He appeared from nowhere, his presence suddenly felt behind her, the echo of his rich deep laugh ringing in her ears and picking at a memory she couldn't quite access. She spun around, eyes bright and sharp, seeing a face emerge from the corner of the sumptuous room. His eyes held her gaze across the distance as he slowly and calmly stepped out of the shadows. One foot placed in front of the other at a carefully timed pace, making an entrancing rhythm in the resounding footsteps as his boots hit the floor sharply.

He smiled at her, lips curving upwards viciously, except it seemed hard to hate considering the feeling that expression created – a slight flutter that such a seductive look was directed at her. He said nothing and she didn't dare interrupt the heavy silence that was upon the scene.

His footsteps carried on as he walked towards her position and her eyes grew wide with a barely contained fear. This wasn't right. She didn't know where here was but it wasn't any place she should be. But at this moment she found herself wanting to stay here. Maybe it was curiosity. Why was she here or even what did he intend to do with her? She hated it because, well, curiosity killed the cat, didn't it?

The charming smirk of his deepened as he closed in on her, with his robes swirling round his legs in his strong stride. He emanated confidence, an aura of power surrounding him that willed her to stay still. She was calm in the same sickening way a rabbit froze in front of an oncoming car. Shock controlling her but panic physically absent.

Her muscles urged her to flee but she was constricted, every part of her wound up and her body locked down where she stood, Ba'al's presence by her side, circling his prey; a light touch to her hair as he dallied with his victim. She knew he was still smiling, mouth flirting with the world, enough to make her believe, maybe, she was safe for awhile.

Only he'd smile as he cut you down she realized. She shivered at the thought, the first noticeable movement of her body for minutes apart from her harsh short breaths.

He made his way round her, as if examining his property. His fingers laced through her hair loosely, trailing and tracing a pattern. He was playing with her all right and he wasn't one to play fair either.

He came back to face her and she gave his a gaze that dared him to do something, anything to end this torture – she couldn't wait for him. At that his smile faded into a dark almost neutral expression; unreadable. She closed her eyes as she felt tears forming. The panic set in gently, slowly creeping onto her body, hair standing on end as one arm reached out to her, lifting her chin.

Her throat constricted at his touch, a hand firm around her neck. She resisted the urge to whimper and tried to clasp his robes, hands digging into layers of fabric. But his hand never tightened, it encircled one side as he moved in closer, breath hot against the other unclosed side. He lingered there, and she was unsure what this meant. She knew he liked playing games, it was the way he did things. Everything to him was a game. Whatever type of game it was he treated life like he left you feeling cheated; he was always ten steps ahead of you and no proof as to how he managed to be.

Only here he faltered, his own breath catching, at she dug in her grip on his clothes pulling him in.

He withdrew abruptly, gazing at her, face far too close for comfort but it she found she didn't care by now.

Eyes that were usually controlled unleashed a tide of emotion. Ba'al, Goa'uld preening himself for the title of supreme overlord, showed a flash of fear there. His mouth was agape by a few supposedly inconsequential millimeters. But it was just enough to show the tables were turned.

Samantha Carter grinned back at the vaguely flustered man. He made out he was a god where it mattered; it seemed wrong to apply such a name to him but they were all lied to there, after all he was only a man when it came down to it. And like all men he had needs and desires; and fears and doubts..

That was why he was scared that she was reigning him in with no abandon. Women didn't do this to him, not unless he commanded it she bet. If you'd have asked her normally it wasn't the kind of thing she'd do either, but then she wouldn't be here if she had a choice. Or would she? Her mind was cluttered, clouded by a rage of new feelings and a strange sense of logic over her actions. It felt right to bring Ba'al up to her so close that his breath became ragged; it was retribution, a taste of his own medicine and she was relishing administering it.

She released him, shoving him away. The poor guy was confused, and she was surprised to see he did a great impression of being both relieved and hurt by what she had done. Figured he'd wear any look well, making you want to like him whatever it was. A secret section of her brain voiced a correction to that '...making you want to want him.'

But she resisted the desire to return to him, favoring watching him instead. Studying him; his behavior...as he swallowed nervously, his expression...still acting like he cared, and him overall. He dressed his part, like a courtesan and ever much the seducer, but with garments far to lush for that position in the scheme of things.

These people did things big and he was no exception. He bragged but he backed it up on looks alone, just that she couldn't tell if it went deeper or whether it was an effective facade to something else. What else could there be though? Her only answer came back to her earlier thoughts: he as a man plain and simple, no matter if he did have a snake in his head.

With that she made up her mind, feeling a tad guilty for teasing him, and made her move. Ba'al stood there, the fear showing once more. He did not move an inch. He waited for her, he held his breath for her; he left it all to her and she obliged, feeding him morsels of pleasure, that she was infinitesimally closer with each slow step in his direction.

She smiled to match how she imagined he had not so long ago – a saccharine smile that seemed sweet and sensual, yet domineering. And she held off before him, leaning in to whisper, “Why don't we get more comfortable, starting with those...” her gaze flicked down momentarily and his eyes widened at her suggested.

The sensation of joy, victory, gleamed through her but the moment was fading into a memory – broken off, ended...

She opened her eyes, brain conscious of the sudden change – her reality torn away from her – which made her jerk upwards to sit. Her eyes scanned the room. It was normal. She sniffed the air. Clean and fresh, her bedroom window open a crack to allow circulation.

It was a dream. All of it. All fake, all disappearing from her mind's grasp, with the last few seconds ingraining themselves. She felt a flush to her cheeks at the thought. They were always what she commanded he remove but he never would, his one disobedience. Sometimes she got as far as attempting herself, tracing her hands up his calves but never reaching her target; the dream cut off there like clockwork – a scenario that was forbidden even in slumber.

She twisted round, gathering up the covers and throwing them off. She got up to get a glass of water to cool herself down, cursing as she did, annoyed at another nights sleep interrupted.

It was always those darn leather boots, had to be.


End file.
